


The Girls of Death

by merryghoul



Series: Suzanne Costello: Life is All [8]
Category: Luther (TV), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Sherlock, Case Fic, Community: crossbigbang, Crossover, F/F, Gambling, Kid Fic, M/M, Original Character(s), The Empty House
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryghoul/pseuds/merryghoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2013.  Jim Moriarty's crime ring has unravelled. As Sherlock is returning to London, Ronald Adair is killed by a sniper in his Park Lane home.  The Adventure of the Empty House begins, but with DCI Suzie Cutler supervising Sherlock and John, there's bound to be twists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Girls of Death

**Author's Note:**

> [h_marchosias did the art;](http://archiveofourown.org/works/432068) making_excuses on LJ is the beta; this is for crossbigbang.

  


BLACK HOLE

  
He's coming, Mum.  
Should be in London  
tomorrow. AM

Good. SC

We've held on to Ronald  
Adair long enough.  
Should we spring the  
trap tonight? AM

Yes. Tomorrow. The  
murder's been arraigned.  
The office's set up.  
Question is, are YOU  
ready? SC

  
I'm always ready, Suzie.  
Girl Guide's honour. AM

Let's give Sherlock  
Holmes the homecoming  
he deserves. SC

  
The most action Park Lane sees on any given day is the traffic that runs up and down the busy street. Maybe a camera crew for television, if the Lane's lucky.

Things become hectic when Countess Adair can't open her son's door at 427 Park Lane at 11:20 PM on March 30. She bangs on the door and calls Ronald Adair's name. She gets no response from him. She dials 999.  
  
  
Westminster constables, led by a redheaded woman, run up to Countess' home. They break open the door, and it's a gory sight: someone shot a bullet in Ronald's brain. He's slumped on the desk; the iPad he was holding has fallen to the floor. There are chunks of brain and blood all over Ronald's desk.

Countess screams and runs out of her flat.

  
Sherlock Holmes is in the city  
His room should be preserved  
the way he left it. No  
announcements, please – he wants  
privacy.

MH

  
The news of Ronald Adair's death makes the front page of all the UK's major papers: the _Telegraph,_ the _Guardian,_ the _Observer,_ the _Daily Mail._ The papers show his bloodied torso and a picture of him from Oxford University covering his head. John Watson has a hard time picking what paper to pick at the newsstand. He settles on the _Guardian_ —it doesn't remind him of the tabloids that had a field day heralding the day Sherlock Holmes was declared a "fraud."

John peruses the story about Roland's death. After Sherlock's death he became engaged to Mary Morstan. She worked in real estate, selling mansions and expensive flats. A week after John proposed to Mary, she was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukaemia. The leukaemia had progressed too much for Mary to get any treatment to effectively save her life, and she died two months before Ronald Adair.

Having no place to call his own after Mary's death, John moved back to 221B Baker Street, where, to his surprise, Mrs. Hudson left everything intact, even Sherlock's things. The loss of Sherlock still upsets him, but at least it wasn't sitting in St. Bart's watching Mary fade away.

After reading the story over and over again, he folds the _Guardian_ and shrugs his shoulders. The story and the blocked murder scene photo aren't giving him any clues on how Adair was murdered. He walks back to 221B Baker Street, planning to pour some tea. He's not going to think about Sherlock again. He's not.

As he's walking back, a courier on a bicycle bumps into John, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"Watch where you're going, you idiot."

John flashes back to the day Sherlock died. As he was rushing to see Sherlock's body, a courier on a bicycle bumped into him. John freezes. He shakes the image of Sherlock's body out of his head and walks back to 221B Baker Street.

  
To John's surprise, the courier is standing in the living room of John's apartment.

"Who are you?"

The courier says nothing. John doesn't move for a few seconds.

John runs to his bedroom and looks for his old cane. When he returns to the living room, the courier has stripped out of his disguise. It's Sherlock.

John punches Sherlock.

"I knew you weren't dead," John says as Sherlock wipes the blood from his nose on his sleeve.

"That's the only thing you've deduced correctly."

Sherlock sits in his chair. He pulls out a cigarette.

"I suppose you'd like to know what happened at St. Bart's."

Sherlock explains to John what happened on the building: the meeting with Moriarty, Moriarty's plans to kill John, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, Moriarty's suicide, Sherlock's fake suicide to call off Moriarty's henchmen.

"I noticed a person walking up the building when I made that mobile call to you," Sherlock continues. "I didn't get a good look at the person, but that person heard my call. The person was wearing a black trench coat. I'm not sure of the length—either it was a long trench coat that covered the body or a shorter one that was supplemented by a skirt. The person wearing the trench coat was a skinny person, skinny enough to pass as male if she was female. I think that person was Moriarty's lieutenant. I knew Moriarty's lieutenant couldn't do anything because of the crowd of people near my body. The lieutenant would rather flee than attempt to ensure my death was permanent.

"Immediately after the ambulance came and picked me up, I had them take me to Stevenage, out of the city, in case Moriarty's lieutenant sensed I was alive. I came back for my funeral, but I couldn't expose myself to you for the very same reasons. So, for about a year, I lived in Montpelier. It was boring. Mycroft was the only person who knew about my disappearance. I regret not being able to tell you."

"What made you come back?"

"Mycroft called me and told me everyone affiliated with Moriarty's web was arrested. They all should be put away for a while. I pretended to be a courier in case someone was lurking, but they all should be gone."

Sherlock's phone rings. John wants to answer it but Sherlock slaps away his hand. Sherlock picks up the phone.

"Hello."

_"Sherlock Holmes?"_

"Who is this?"

The phone is silent on the other end for a few seconds.

_"DCI Suzanne Cutler."_

"DCI Cutler? Why haven't I heard of you before?"

_"I'm new in town. Just transferred from the Avon and Somerset Constabulary to Westminster."_

"That was obvious."

_"What?"_

"You being from that region. Specifically, you're from Bath. You draw out all your Rs and long As. Similar to a Bristol accent except you wouldn't add a terminal A to your words."

_"I can't believe I'm saying this, but you're right. You're an odd one, Sherlock."_

_"Tell me something new."_

_"I head a Murder Investigation Team here. Had to do a lot of digging to find you. People kept telling me you're dead and no one lived at 221B Baker."_

Sherlock scoffs. "Of course I was dead. It was in the papers. I'm starting to come back to life."  
  
_"I knew you weren't dead. Listen, I believe in Sherlock Holmes. I know you have a talent few people possess."_

"It's not a talent, Miss Cutler. I see things others fail to see and make deductions appropriately."

 _"And I hate those gossip rags. Almost pissed in my pants when_ News of the World folded. _I'm sure quite a few others will fold if you help me solve this case."_

"I really don't care about being famous again. They'll make me wear that stupid hat. I don't want to be bored. That's all I ask."

_"Well, if you don't want to be bored, you will report to my office. It's at the Belgravia Police Borough Operational Command Unit. Ask for DCI Suzanne Cutler. Be there at 9:30 or I assume you'll stay dead."_

Sherlock hangs up the phone. He smiles.

"My first day back in London and I have my old job back. As long as she doesn't make we wear that stupid hat we're in business. I'll see you tomorrow at the command unit in Belgravia. Clear out your calendar if you must. I know you've made job arrangements after my death to pay Mrs. Hudson and the rest of the bills."

John's mouth hangs open. "What? Sherlock, you just got back."

"I need to talk to Mrs. Hudson."

"Why do you need to talk to her? The bills are being paid, Sherlock. I'm busting my arse looking for jobs to pay the utilities and the rent."

"I know you've been doing that, John. I expected you to do that. Mrs. Hudson fainted when I went to visit her before I went looking for you. I want to make sure she's awake and has a spot of tea if she needs it. _Then_ we can work on this case."

Sherlock winks and walks out 221B.

  
Sherlock and John go to meet DCI Cutler in her new office at the Belgravia Police Borough Operational Command Unit. It's sparsely decorated. The only items on the walls are a few certificates and degrees. There's also a picture of Cutler holding a toddler, a little girl, and Cutler's iPhone 4S, on her desk.

Standing at Suzie's desk is the red-headed constable who helped break into Adair's room. From the back, she could be mistaken for Amy Pond, one of the Doctor's companions in his eleventh incarnation. She's not nearly as tall as Karen Gillan, however.

"What do you want me to do, Mum?" the red-headed constable says. She grins.

"Wait for me."

Sherlock and John walk into Cutler's office.

"You must be Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson," Suzie says.

"We are," Sherlock replies.

"This is PC Raina White."

The redhead turns and faces Sherlock and John. She has angular, dark coloured eyebrows and a pout. It's apparent the redhead's not natural-born.

"She works with my MIT occasionally. She's kind of like my general police liaison. She was on her way back to her beat. I'll see you later, PC White."

"Same to you, Mum."

PC White walks out of DCI Cutler's office. She glances at Sherlock and John as she leaves, grin still on her face.

Sherlock walks up to DCI Cutler's desk and looks at the picture.

"Is that your little girl?"

"Yeah. Her name's Emily Jane. I named her after my favourite poet. Emily Dickinson, and my old boss, DSI Jack Harkness. She helped me get through some tough times in my life. She's almost three—she'll be three on July first. Born on one of the hottest days of that year, she was." Cutler smiles. "She's a huge influence on what I do." Cutler extends her hand and Sherlock shakes it. "You're Sherlock, I presume."

"DCI Suzanne Cutler. Prefer to be called 'Suzie.' Age: around 36 years old. You're of mixed race."

"My parents were both White and Indian. You're as good as they say you are."

"Should be a rim shot there. You wear contacts. You don't need the glasses you're currently wearing but you wear them to make yourself look smart. You have a pronounced overbite you're proud of. You tease it with your tongue often. You've held down many jobs in the past; this is your latest job. You don't show your legs. You're ashamed of them for some reason. And you prefer to wear boots—the boots you're wearing right now are scuffed because of wear and tear."

Suzie smiles. "I'm impressed, Sherlock." She clears her throat. "Can't stand around here grinning like an idiot. Let's get to work. Sit down."

"Well, that went better than I thought," John says.

"Don't worry about it, John. I work with odd people all the time."

She pulls out crime scene photos of Ronald Adair.

"Here's our victim. Ronald Adair. He's the son of Australian aviation tycoon Earl Adair. Reginald owns Maynooth Aviation—it's like Virgin Aviation for Oceania. His wife, Countess, needed cataract surgery. The best surgeons she could find were in London. She, Ronald and her daughter Hilda moved to 427 Park Lane while she was receiving the surgery."

"And I thought _my_ name was odd."

Suzie hushes Sherlock. "They were waiting for Countess to fully recover before going back to Australia. And then this happened while Countess and Hilda were visiting a cousin of Countess'."

"This man had no enemies?"

"None that we know of."

Sherlock looks at the photos. "Is the crime scene still intact?"

"Pretty sure it is. Why?"

"These photos aren't enough. I need to make a house call."

  
Suzie takes Sherlock and John to Ronald Adair's building. PC White is standing outside the door of 427 Park Lane. Suzie nods at PC White and PC White nods back. She walks away when Suzie, Sherlock and John enter Adair's building.

Suzie's Murder Investigation Team gives the trio odd looks and double takes. There are whispers among the team—is that Sherlock? I thought he died—but Suzie waves them off. "This man is not the man you're thinking of," she says. The Murder Investigation Team doesn't ask further.

Except for Ronald's body, the crime scene is intact.

Sherlock walks to Ronald's desk. He looks outside the window.

Suzie cleans off her thigh-high boots. They're covering up her pants. "There's a bullet hole in the window."

"Obviously the assailant obtained a precision rifle and shot Ronald from another room in this apartment complex. Don't insult my intelligence further, Suzie."

"Oh, no, Sherlock, I wouldn't think of doing that."

"You and your team aren't sure how the assailant knew Countess and Hilda were going to be out for the night and how he managed to get into the house to kill Ronald, especially if Ronald supposedly had no enemies." Sherlock looks at the iPad. "It could be worse. Killed while masturbating, suicide, a combination of both."

Sherlock scans the room. Despite the room looking like an office, it's covered in Tupac, Notorious B.I.G. and _Star Wars_ posters. A shelf in his room has various _Star Wars_ collectables on it. Another shelf is filled with _Doctor Who_ DVDs.

"Ronald was an immature man. The condition of these toys indicates he wasn't collecting them for sale. If he was, they'd still be in the original packaging or in sandwich bags. He _does_ have a vanity piece, a rare Darth Vader figurine from 1978, retail value approximately £4,500. Of course that's the one in its original packaging _and_ in a glass case. I have a feeling he's a gambler. I'll need to check"—

A shot rings out in Ronald's room. It breaks the case the Darth Vader figurine was in, nearly hitting Sherlock's head. Everyone in the room ducks. They stay on the floor for a few minutes.

"The casinos in the city for any record of Ronald Adair."

Sherlock gets up.

"Also, I have an admirer. Sorry, John."

Sherlock can't get to the casinos, let alone his "admirer." After the "house call," Suzie drives Sherlock and John back to her office. She ushers Sherlock and John into an interview room.

"Do you think something's off with Suzie?" John asks Sherlock.

"What do you mean? She seems nice. I'm amazed you're not slobbering over her."

"In a different situation, yes, I'd stare at her arse all night long. Have you seen it? Huge."

"Yes, I've seen it. What's so special about it?"

"It's _huge,_ Sherlock."

"Well, then."

"She seemed very happy when you asked to see the crime scene. Too happy. Enough to kill my boner."

Sherlock shrugs. "Sorry about your boner, John."

"She led you into a room where a sniper was waiting for you on another floor. I'm not even sure if she called for backup after the sniper tried to kill you. And she's making you talk with Ronald Adair's fiancée instead of letting you hunt for casinos."

"So?"

"She's setting us up, Sherlock."

"Calm down, John. This game's actually interesting for once."

Suzie brings in a laptop. Skype is already set up on it.

"We're talking to Edith Woodley. We couldn't fly her in from Glasgow, so we're doing a Skype interview from Carstairs."

Suzie puts Edith on the Skype application. She stands behind John and Sherlock, who are standing.

"Edith?"

 _"Hello?"_ Edith's Scottish brogue is heavy.

"This is DCI Suzie Cutler. I'm with Sherlock Holmes—he's my 'consulting detective'—and his partner, John Watson. We're here to talk about Ronald."

"You're not going to get much out of this woman."

John puts a hand over Sherlock's mouth.

_"What happened?"_

"Ronald was killed by a sniper in Park Lane."

Edith doesn't speak for a few moments. _"Oh my God…"_

"I'm sorry."

Edith cries for a few moments.

Sherlock removes John's hand from his mouth. "I was going to say she's the type of woman that looks down often so people don't see her cry. One of you, please continue."

"How was Ronald related to you?" Suzie says.

Edith tries to compose herself for Suzie, John and Sherlock. She sniffs and clears her throat. _"We were engaged."_

_"For how long?"_

_"Six months. We broke it off three months ago."_

"Why did you two break it off?"

 _"He's a compulsive gambler. He wouldn't risk too much to go broke, but he loved the thrill of sitting in a club and attempting to rack up winnings. He'd lie whenever he said he wasn't going to the casinos. I tried taking him to Gamblers Anonymous, but he was miserable every time he went to a session. Said he'd rather play Darth Vader versus Jar Jar Binks in his study._ "

Sherlock removes John's hand from his face. "I told you to let me get a record of the city's casinos, Suzie."

Suzie glares at Sherlock. "Protocol first, Sherlock. Crime scene tour first, then interview. After that, _then_ you can look at casinos."

"You agreed to let me go to the crime scene."

"That's because _I_ was planning to go to the crime scene."

"You're cute, Suzie."

"My parents made me cute. Didn't you analyze that already?"

_"You don't need a record of the casinos. Ronald went to three gambling clubs in the city: Baldwin, Cavendish and Bagatelle. We'd argue at home or over the phone about what club he went to, and those three names came up."_

Suzie smirks at Sherlock. "That's all we needed, Edith. Thank you."

_"No, thank you, DCI Cutler. I'm happy to help."_

After the conference call with Edith, Sherlock and John go to a coffee shop in Belgravia. Lunch consists of Sherlock watching John eat a bagel with lox and drinking black coffee.  
  
"I still have a bad feeling about DCI Cutler, Sherlock," John says between bites. "She seems like the controlling type."

"I know, John. She hires me to be a consulting detective and yet she's controlling what I have access to. She excites me. Few things excite me, John. I want to discover who she is."

"You're not concerned she's putting you in harm's way?"

"No."

"I lost my best friend to a madman and his criminal web. I don't want to lose you again."

"I'll be careful. DCI Cutler can't be _that_ dangerous." Sherlock pulls out his laptop. "I feel like some card games tonight and I haven't a clue where these casinos are. Suzie didn't leave me hints."

Sherlock Googles the Baldwin and Cavendish clubs. Both require entry from an already existing member to get inside said clubs. He then Googles the Bagatelle Club.

"The Bagatelle has a lot a criminals going in and out of it. A lot of arrests happen inside or near the club."

"You think our culprit goes to this casino, Sherlock?"

"I'm not done Googling yet, John. Shh."

Sherlock clicks on a link that leads to a directory with all the city's casinos. There's a link on the side for the Bagatelle Club. Sherlock clicks the link. After sitting through a short Flash slideshow of the casino's interiors, Sherlock clicks on another link for information about the club and pulls up this webpage:

  
ABOUT THE BAGATELLE CLUB

The Bagatelle Card Club is one of the few clubs in the city that specializes in card games. It is for members only.

  
DETAILS

**Membership Requirements**

Seven day trial memberships are offered at the door for all non-members. After seven days, patrons are required to pay for a membership to use the club's facilities.

  
**Opening Hours**

The Bagatelle Card Club is open every day. There are no closing hours for games.

  
**Gaming**

At our main tables, we offer three card poker, baccarat and blackjack. We also offer private gaming penthouses for our VIP clients. The management does not control how the penthouses are run.

  
"The Bagatelle has a trial membership. That's all I needed to know." Sherlock smiles. "After work, wear your Sunday best. Let's play baccarat."

Despite the Bagatelle Card Club's name, there are no bagatelle games. While the exterior is modern, the interior is reminiscent of a Victorian house. Red wallpaper lines the walls. Large fabric drapes line the windows. Tables with cards are everywhere on the ground floor. There are no electronic machines in sight.

Sherlock and John play a few rounds of baccarat. After he wins £250, Sherlock puts down his cards and grabs his tokens. "Bored. I want to see what's going on at another table." Sherlock walks away.

John follows him. "Sherlock, you can't just stand up and leave a table in the middle of a private club. Not without folding."

"I want to find Roland Adair's table. He was wealthy enough to be a part of one."

"Sherlock, you git, how are we"—

"We walk to the fourth floor—that's where all the private rooms are. You distract the bouncers, I walk in the rooms. Once I get in, I'll text you.

"Ugh." John waves his hands in the air.

John walks in front of Sherlock. Sherlock ducks into the lounge as John walks up to the bouncers.

John clears his throat. "Um…I think Manchester City has a chance of winning the championship this year."

The bouncers say nothing.

"Did I say Manchester City? I meant Manchester _United._ Same city, different teams. It's easy to get them confused."

The guards say nothing.

"Rugby? Do you like rugby? Three Nations? South African rugby? Do you miss Setanta Sports on telly?"

The guards grab John and take him down the stairs. Sherlock sneaks into the private rooms. There are two: the François-Joseph Bélanger room and the Susan Harper room. The Susan Harper room is furthest away from Sherlock. He goes in that room first.

The Susan Harper room is a large penthouse suite. There's a lounge near the entrance of the suite. In the middle is a table. Three men are at said table, along with a female dealer. Another woman pours glasses in champagne flutes. The woman with champagne hands Sherlock a flute. Sherlock sits at the table. He texts John:

Made it to the Susan Harper  
room. Will try to text if I  
need help—SH.

"No texting at the table, please," the dealer announces. She hands Sherlock two cards. He looks around and sees the other players looking at his cards. Sherlock looks at his two cards, then at the three unturned cards on the table. _Texas Hold 'Em,_ he thinks. _Thank you,_ Late Night Poker. Sherlock looks back at his cards. He has a two of clubs and a three of hearts—two bad cards to have in any variation of poker. Sherlock folds his cards.

He studies the three players. All of them are in their 30s. The one on the far left is a stout, balding man in a crumbled brown business suit and a blue clip-on tie. His tie bar has a monogram on it: M. The player on Sherlock's immediate left is of South Asian descent. He has curly hair and he's slender, just like Suzie. Suzie wouldn't wear a business suit, however. The play on Sherlock's right is wearing a grey business suit. On his pocket was a lapel pin shaped in a cross with a crown on top of it. _Must be a Knight,_ Sherlock thought.

The curly haired man wins this match. He retires to the lounge. Sherlock follows him, his glass of champagne still full and quickly going flat.

"You're new," the curly haired man said to Sherlock.

"I know. Ronald Adair invited me to join him for cards, but I couldn't make it the last time he came here. Taxi was stuck in traffic."

"Oh." The curly haired man looked to his right. "He never mentioned anything about inviting a guest."

Sherlock extended a hand to the curly haired man. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Sebastian Moran." Sebastian doesn't look into Sherlock's eyes.

"Aren't you the son of Augustus Moran?"

"Former Iranian diplomat, yes."

"And now there aren't UK diplomats in Iran." Sebastian sucks his teeth. He looks to his right, then down at Sherlock's champagne. "Are you going to drink that?"

"No. I'd rather smoke. But not right now. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends? Ronald would, but he's dead."

Sebastian points to the woman holding the champagne bottle. "That's Eva. She's the sommelier. The dealer's name is Tamara. She's not our usual dealer." He takes Sherlock's flute and downs the champagne in one gulp.

"Where's your usual dealer?"

Sebastian looks at the ceiling. "She had business to take care of. The guy in brown's Murray. He won't ever reveal his real name to us. He works in finance. And the guy in grey's Sir John Hardy. He's a judge."

"Did you know Ronald well?"

"I only knew him because he paid to be a part of the room. He'd spend a couple of days here, a couple of days at the Cavendish and the rest of the week at the Baldwin. It wasn't like he had actual _work_ to do. He was waiting for his mum to get better."

"So none of you are friends? You all paid for a private room away from the main floor?"

Sebastian nods.

"I thought the main room was gorgeous. And do they pump in scents to make you risk more? I like that touch." Sherlock clears his throat. "Do other people go in this room to play Texas Hold 'Em, or is it only, well, Murray, Hardy and you?"

"Um…two other people come in and play with us sometimes. Godfrey Milner and the Duke of Barmoral. Just last week we won £420 against him, Ronald and me."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

Sebastian looks at Eva. He's still trying to avoid Sherlock's gaze. "Yesterday, around this time. 10 PM. He left because he wanted some time to himself before his mum and sis came back from visiting a cousin."

A bouncer walks in the Susan Harper room. He stands in front of Sherlock. Sherlock stands on the sofa cushion and jumps off the sofa back. "Nice meeting you." He runs out the Harper room, the guard following him. Sherlock hides in the lounge and texts John:

Meet me outside. Hail a VERY

fast cab. We'll need it. SH.

The bouncer stands in the lounge. Sherlock puts his phone in his pocket and runs out of the lounge.

As he's running down the stairs, Sherlock holds the banister to keep his balance. This allows the bouncer to catch up with him. The bouncer tries to grab Sherlock's shoulders, even if Sherlock is trying to exit through the casino's main entrance. Sherlock gains speed when his feet hit the casino's main floor, enough to escape the bouncer's grasp.

Near the casino is a luxury chain hotel. There, John's held a cab in front of the hotel's drop off lane. John whistles to Sherlock when Sherlock comes out of the casino. Sherlock runs to the cab. The two slide in.

"221B Baker Street. If we don't have enough, call the Bagatelle Club. I made £250 there in the Susan Harper room. That should be enough for your fee."

As Sherlock, John and the cabbie drive away from Hamilton Street, Sherlock rolls down the window and waves at the angry and confused bouncers looking outside the casino for him.

Sherlock and John report to Suzie the next day.

"I have a list of potential suspects I want you to check out for me."

Suzie licks her lips. "Okay."

"John and I went to the casinos to see if we could find suspects for Ronald Adair's murder. Do you know anything about a 'Murray?'"

"Is that a first name or last name?"

"Last."

"There's tons of Murrays in the database. Do you really think I'm taking my lunch break off for you?"

"Murray. I was told he works in finance."

"By who?"

"A Sebastian Moran."

Suzie stares at Sherlock. "Sebastian Moran?"

"Must be an important name if you're staring at me like that."

"I thought they arrested Moran after Moriarty's crime ring went to shit. You know, after Moriarty disappeared and we…well, most of the world thought you had died."

Sherlock flashes back to the person in a black trench coat walking into the building. He's still uncertain about the length of the coat. He recalls the person wearing thigh-high boots. He's not certain on the length of the heel of the boot, but he recalls the boots having buckles on the outer sides. He then flashes back to Suzie in Ronald Adair's study. 

"Sherlock? Are you listening to me?"

Sherlock smiles. "Of course I am. Go on."

"I hate talking to myself. At least _you_ were listening, John."

"I've got to take notes. I need this for my blog."

Suzie grins. "Anyway, Sebastian Moran was James Moriarty's right-hand man. Sherlock, you being you, you already know that he's the son of Augustus Moran, he was a Colonel in the British Army."

"Yes, Suzie, I know all this."

"He's mixed race, just like me. He doesn't look like it, but he is—that's why he has that Irish last name. Dad wanted him to go into politics, maybe be an ambassador like himself. Sent him to Oxford to study philosophy, politics and economics. Had him join Balliol College there. And after he got his masters at Oxford, he joined the army. Father wasn't too pleased about that.

"He was good with a sniper rifle. Started in 16 Air Assault Brigade. Then he applied for the Special Air Service and got in. He did some counter-terrorism stuff with the SAS. Despite all of that, he never rose above the rank of Colonel. Wasn't showered with awards from the military either. He got so pissed off he defected, cold turkey. Flew back home on break to the UK and just stayed there, the end. And then his dad wasn't an Iranian diplomat anymore. So he started getting angry at the government for taking his livelihood away from him."

"Then Moriarty took him in."

"Yes. But Moran wasn't happy under Moriarty either. Moriarty kept him as his personal sniper. Thing is, Moriarty didn't always use his sniper. It wasn't until Moriarty was hell bent on killing Sherlock that Moran was seeing any action. Moriarty even had Moran attempt to kill John."

John nods. "Makes sense."

"There was this big thing in the papers about Moriarty's ring being arrested after Sherlock's fake suicide. John's seen it."

John continues nodding.

"You look like the type of man who picks up a paper to read the match results."

"I am."

"I like a man like you. So macho. Unfortunately his dad was able to bail him out, and with no proof that he committed any other murders, he walked away without any charges."

"And now he's heard I'm back in town and wants to kill me."

"Yes. We've got to get you a bodyguard right away, Sherlock. You never know when you might need one."

"A bodyguard? No, thank you. John and I have been in worse predicaments. The last thing we need is a bulky third wheel."

"No, no, no. I insist. I don't want to lose my star detective over a good solider gone wrong."

Sherlock stands up. "Thank you, Suzie, but I really do not need a bodyguard. I'm going back to my home. You know my number. Call me if you need me. I think we're done for the day."

Sherlock and John walk to the Victoria Underground station, the closest station in the area that will take them back to Baker Street. About two blocks after they leave Suzie's office, there's a red dot on Sherlock's head.

"Sherlock, did you put something in your head this morning?"

"Shampoo and conditioner, like every other normal person."

"Did you do something to your head then?"

"Like what?"

"Put a barbette or glitter in it. Or bashed it against a rock."

"No. Why?"

"I think Sebastian's found us."

Sherlock and John run two blocks down the street. Sebastian—or who Sherlock thinks is Sebastian—fires a few bullets against the wall. Sherlock and John escape before Sebastian can hit either one of them with a bullet. After they pass the second block Sherlock and John turn a corner and catch their breath.

Police sirens approach Sherlock and John. Constables reach the two. "Are you alright? Do you need medical help?" one of the constables ask.

"I'd like an ambulance and a blanket, please," Sherlock says.

"I'll pass," John says. "He needs an escort. Who's also a doctor, but I didn't tell you this."

The EMTs in the emergency ward of St. Thomas' Hospital are not pleased with Sherlock sitting in the emergency ward with a blanket. He's not bleeding and he doesn't appear to be shaken up from the attempt on his life. Before the chief physician discharges Sherlock Suzie walks into the emergency ward.

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine."

"I can't let you walk the streets of London alone. Not while Sebastian Moran is out there trying to kill you. I'm assigning you a bodyguard until Moran's convicted of attempted murder. And you're not to leave your flat until Moran's captured."

Sherlock makes a mocking pout. "Oh, wow. You're worse than my mum."

"John can get all your food and toiletries for you. I'll contact the police station near you and arrange a police escort every time he leaves the flat. With this attack on your life, and some more hard evidence, we'll have Moran behind bars in no time. And you'll be thanking me for that bodyguard. He'll be pretty useful."

As Sherlock is staring at his skull and Watson is blogging about the St. Thomas visit, there's a knock on 221B. John opens the door. In the doorway are PC White and a tall, muscular man. They walk in 221B.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. Doctor Watson."

"You're scaring me," John says.

"That's not the first time I've heard that before." She gestures to the man. "This is Connor Parkes. Connor's a retired Coldstream Guard. He used to do patrol for the Tower of London."

"Where was he when Moriarty broke into the Crown Jewels?" Sherlock asks.

"Who's Moriarty?"

Sherlock sighs. "Right."

"But if you're talking about the break in to the Crown Jewels, I believe he retired before that. Were you retired, Mr. Parkes?"

"Yes, I was."

"Mr. Parkes will ensure your safety, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. He's taken bullets before for some of his other clients. I'll leave you three alone. But before I leave, do you want me to call an officer to escort John to get any groceries?"

"No. Thank you, PC White."

PC White leaves 221B.

Connor casts a shadow over 221B. He sits between Sherlock and John in their living room. He eats whenever John and Sherlock eat. If Sherlock goes to the bathroom for anything—a shower, a shave, to take care of bodily functions—Connor does the same thing after Sherlock. He sleeps whenever Sherlock sleeps—and in Sherlock's bed, to boot. Despite the various items in their flat, Connor doesn't seem to be freaked out by any of it.

Sherlock and John are once again sitting in their living room the day after Connor's arrival. Sherlock sighs. He gets up, grabs John by the hand and whisks him away to his bedroom.

"Follow my lead," Sherlock whispers.

"Follow your lead? What are you"—

Sherlock kisses John. It's an awkward kiss—Sherlock's not sure how to cover John's mouth with his, and he has his tongue down John's throat, making John choke. Before Connor can reach the door, Sherlock and John duck inside the bedroom. Sherlock locks the door.

In his bedroom Sherlock has a boombox—a model from the late 90s with a CD player, radio and cassette deck. Sherlock unzips a CD wallet and pulls out a CD labelled "HOME INVASION #4." Sherlock puts the disc in and waits for the machine to read it. Once the boombox is ready, he presses play. The sounds of two men having sex from a pornographic film blared out of the boombox.

"I think we should've had foreplay first, Sherlock," John says.

"I don't have time for foreplay. Maybe another time. Listen, I know Suzie means well by sending me a bodyguard, but we've got to dump him."

"How do we do that? We know how I fared against the casino bouncers."

"This time you won't have to annoy bouncers. I have another idea. Connor doesn't look like he's the brightest bulb in the box."

"What if Suzie finds out?" John whispers. He's ruffling up his shirt and hair. "She's starting to freak me out. A bloody DCI is freaking me out, and I'm a doctor."

Sherlock has taken off his clothes; he's putting on a bathrobe. "I'll make sure she won't."

John exits the bedroom. Sherlock follows him and sits in his chair. He pulls out his mobile and pretends to press a few buttons on it.

"Hello, Suzie?"

There's no one on the other line.

"Sherlock and I need a few personal things. Shaving cream, deodorant…milk."

Pause.

"Can you send an escort to 221B?"

Pause.

"All units in our area are busy? There's a holdup?"

Pause.

"Okay, I'll take Connor with me. Thanks, Mum."

John "hangs up" his mobile.

"Connor, Mum said I could take you as my escort. Something about a hold up a few blocks from here, but I know they're not at the chemist's. Are you fine with Sherlock being alone in the flat?"

"No."

"Why not? He's a grown man."

"My job responsibility is to protect Sherlock."

"He can lock himself in the bathroom while we're out."

Sherlock glares at John.

"Can I trust him to stay in the bathroom?"

John nods. "Yes."

"Okay. Let's go to the chemist's…what's your name?"

"John Watson."

Connor keeps a watchful eye as John is buying toiletries for the flat. He gets what he pretended to tell Suzie over the phone. He also buys cigarettes for Sherlock.

Connor leads the way back to 221B. The street is how it always is—noisy cars, people chatting, city life.

Before Connor and John reach 221B, there's a shot. It strikes Connor in the head. Connor falls against the pavement face first. Brain matter and blood spatter against a building. Blood bleeds out of Connor's fallen body.

Everyone on the street stops what they're doing. There's screaming and people running up and down the street. People hide in various buildings, including Sherlock and John's building. Windows are shut. Cars stop and people hide in the seats of their cars.

John drops his groceries.

"Holy shit."

John runs to Connor's body. He checks his pulse even though Connor's assailant has killed him instantly. John looks up. A masked figure dressed in black pulls a long distance rifle away from a window. The figure's hands are gloved and the figure's body is covered in a long-sleeved sweatshirt. Before John can call out the masked figure, the figure is gone.

John texts Sherlock:

Connor's out of the way. Not

in the way you think. JW.

John is sitting in a police interview room, sipping tea. The interviewer's already asked John about Connor's death.

"You only saw one person in the window?" the police interviewer asks John.

"Yes. It's odd, isn't it? Snipers usually work in teams."

"And this DCI, her name is Suzanne Cutler?"

"Yes. Goes by the name of Suzie."

"She hired a _bodyguard_ for you?"

"Yes. And she said to call her to ask for police escorts out from our flat if we needed them."

The interviewer scoffs. "Sounds like something out of a damn fiction novel. DCI's don't hire bodyguards to protect civilians."

"I know, but this Suzie Cutler person is odd. I've never dealt with a DCI like her in all my life. It feels like she's controlling everything. Like she's a puppet and she's pulling all our strings. I'm only here because my friend Sherlock's involved in this case. Otherwise I would've rejected this case in a heartbeat."

"Where's her office?"

"Westminster. Says she's new."

"We'll call her."

Sherlock and John go to St. Bartholomew's, the hospital where Connor is housed. John looks up at the roof. He doesn't feel pain whenever he looks up, now that he knows Sherlock is not dead and Molly helped cover up his death for a year.

"Welcome back, Sherlock." Molly smiles and looks down.

"How did you know Sherlock was alive, Molly?"

"He texted me."

John glares at Sherlock.

"Well, Molly?"

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"Were there any bullets recovered from the body?"

"Yes. It's intact." She pulls out a bag. It has a bullet in it.

"Heckler & Koch PSG1."

"That's what's puzzling, Sherlock. I haven't heard of any weapons thefts from any authorized firearms officers recently. Not in London, not in England, not in the UK."

"Smuggled in, perhaps?"

"No one knows for sure."

"Apparently Moran's a master of rifles as well. He can operate a PSG1, issued to the police, and an Accuracy International Arctic Warfare L118A, issued to the military. Very talented fellow, that Moran is. Oh, and Molly, you should probably change lipsticks again. Pale pinks are not your colour."

There is a knock on the door of 221B. Sherlock walks to the door and opens it. There is no one there, but a note has been nailed to the door with a combat dagger.

"UK Special Forces dagger. Maker, Blackhawk! Satin finish. And it's been used before. Blood or rust. I'll examine it with my microscope."

Sherlock pulls the dagger out of the door and takes the note. It reads:

  


YOUR BODYGUARD IS DEAD

SHERLOCK YOU ARE NEXT

MORAN.

The note is made up of glued letters from tabloids and advertisements.

"I didn't give him my phone so he could text me? Oh, that's right. Those bloody bouncers. Maybe next time."

Sherlock and John take the letter and dagger to Suzie. Suzie examines the blade. She lets the blade glisten under the florescent lights in her room.

"The knife is clean. Doesn't look like it's been used on anyone."

"You're wrong, Suzie. The knife's been used before. There are traces of blood on it, human. Very small, hard to catch, but there's traces."

"You sure it wasn't some sort of accident? Like maybe Moran cut himself?"

"The blood was at the base of the knife. Unless his idea of an 'accident' is Japanese ritual suicide, that knife was used to kill people. You haven't heard of Moran stabbing people with a knife, have you?"

"No, but I'll look into it. Okay, Sherlock?"

"I wish you wouldn't," John says. "You're giving us the run-around."

"Come on, John, I wouldn't lead you on."

"What sort of demented DCI sends clients a _bodyguard_ and then, mere days after he's hired, he's shot dead? When people have stalkers, the people being stalked give information to their stalkers and then they issue restraining orders. Not bodyguards. Even the DI I spoke to about Connor's death agreed. The bodyguard idea sounds like really bizarre recce to me."

"I sent the bodyguard to protect you. I meant no harm to you or Sherlock. It's _your_ fault the bodyguard was killed."

"What kind of a DCI are you anyway, Suzanne Cutler?"

Suzie stands up. "A good DCI. If you'll excuse me, I'll continue being unprofessional. I'm going to lunch. If you want some Chipotle burritos, call me." She leaves her office.

Sherlock begins to stand up. John grabs his arm. "Don't even think about it."

Sherlock and John wait until Suzie gets back from Chipotle.

"You're still here?"

"We were waiting for you to calm down. "

"I didn't get three burritos."

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, I am, Sherlock."

"If you're nicer to me, John, I'll split this burrito with you."

John grumbles. "Okay."

Suzie cuts the burrito in half and gives it to John.

"If Moran's scheduled to attack tonight, we need to have a distraction for him set up before dark."

"What were you thinking?" Suzie says between bites.

"Let's set up a target for Moran. One he can't miss."

That evening Sherlock brings in a mannequin to 221B. John follows him with supplies from a local costume store. Sherlock dumps the mannequin in his chair.

"Autons are more convincing, Sherlock. At least they can move."

"You try getting a wax dummy of yourself for £6300 at the last minute."

Sherlock and John dress the mannequin up like Sherlock. The mannequin is wearing a curly hair wig, a coat like Sherlock's coat, a shirt, pants and shoes. John paints the eyes of the mannequin white—no pupils—and its lips pink.

John shakes his head after Sherlock and he are done dressing the mannequin. "Still looks like an Auton to me, Sherlock."

"Wait a minute. I'm not sure what an Auton is."

"I thought you knew what one was after you mentioned the £6300 wax dummy."

"I don't know what that is, John, honestly. That Auton you're talking about."

Pause.

" _Doctor Who,_ Sherlock?"

Pause.

"'Spearhead from Space?' 'Terror of the Autons?'"

"No."

"How do you go through life not knowing what _Doctor Who_ is?"

"It's a children's programme, John. That's why I can go through life not knowing what _Doctor Who_ is about."

John sighs.

Sherlock and John stand in front of the building Moran killed Connor in.

"Where's Suzie?" John says. "She said to meet her in front of this building, 8 PM. It's 8:15. Is she coming? If we stand here, she's going to blow our cover."

"I don't think she is."

"We need to go inside. If she's coming, she's coming. If not, she's late. Let's go."

Sebastian's shooting perch is an empty flat—nothing of value was inside of it. No furniture, no paintings, no cooking utensils, nothing. The room is completely dark—not like there was any working electricity in the room. John looks out the window. Across from the window he's standing in front of is 221B.

"Are you sure Mrs. Hudson is moving the mannequin like you're telling her, Sherlock?"

"She is. I told her if she'd help capture Moran, she'd lower our rent for a month."

"A _month?_ "

"She's staying out of the shadow of the dummy so she won't be injured. She's a grown woman. She'll be okay."

"I hope she is, considering you've put her in the line of fire of one of Moriarty's goons yet again."

"I didn't know about the first attempt, John, until Moriarty told me."

"I _know._ "

There are footsteps coming up the stairs. Sherlock grabs John and covers his mouth. They hide in a corner of the room. Both Sherlock and John pull out night vision goggles, the only thing Suzie supplied to them after Sherlock told her of his plan.

Two people walk into the flat. They are about the same height. Both are wearing ski masks, sweatshirts and pants. One of them carries the PSG1. The other carries a spotting scope.

The person with the PSG1 opens the window and lets the rifle hang on the ledge. The person with the scope stands over the person with the PSG1, now kneeling near the window frame. They hold their positions for several minutes. The person with the scope taps the person with the PSG1 on the shoulder. The person with the PSG1 fires upon 221B, hitting the Sherlock mannequin directly in the head.

John charges for the person with the PSG1. John's able to pull the PSG1 away from the person and push it way from him. The person with the scope flees before John or Sherlock is able to catch up.

Sherlock calls Suzie. "DCI Costello?"

  
_"Yeah. I know I'm late. I got stuck in some traffic on my way up here. I'm sorry."_

"There were two men in an empty flat across from my residence. John and I've captured one of them."

  
_"Moran?"_

"I hope it's Moran. The other fled."

  
_"I'll be up in a few minutes."_

Suzie unmasks the would-be assassin in front of Sherlock, John and her MIT. Her MIT holds torches in the assassin's face. It's no surprise to them the assailant is Moran. Moran has a look of defeat in his eyes. He looks at the ground.

"Do you have anything to say, Moran?" Sherlock says.

"No." He moans.

Suzie cuffs Moran and pulls him up. "Sherlock, John, thank you for helping my MIT out with this case. We could've lost this man."

"Thank you for being a worthy ally, Miss Costello."

Sherlock, John and the MIT leave the empty flat. Suzie starts to leave with the others. When they've all left the room, she and Moran stop. She takes off the cuffs and throws them in a corner.

"Does that mean you've forgiven me, Suzie?"

"No."

"I helped you kill Adair. You let me use your PSG1. What else do I need to do?"

"Nothing. And the PSG1 was an honour, not a privilege. Judging by the way you let John throw the damned thing into a corner, it really was an honour."

"I was desperate, okay?"

"Desperate enough to break into someone's home? You should do your research first. I mean, it's all right you didn't know I was 20 weeks along—you'd never met me before—but to break into the house of the right-hand woman of Moriarty is downright unforgivable."

Suzie pulls out an iPhone 4S with what appears to be a case over the phone.

"Can't I go to jail instead?"

"No. Why are you trying to send _me_ to jail? I'm pretending to be a DCI, you idiot!"

She puts the iPhone against Sebastian's head, placing it on a dimple on the right side of his head. She holds it there for a few minutes.

"Suzie, _please!"_

"That's good. Let fear take over. Soon you'll be in the darkness. I have a few names for you: Ben Barnes, Owen Harper, Toshiko Sato, Ianto Jones."

"I don't know those people."

Suzie presses the home button on the iPhone. The phone makes a cocking noise. She grips the phone so her fingers are not in the way of where the headphone jack is. She laughs.

"Of course you don't. That's the point. There are others, but those four were the most gullible. They didn't see the predator they worked with until it was too late. Tell them all Suzie was smart enough to fool bloody Torchwood so she wouldn't be in the darkness." She grinned. "Tell them Suzie said hi with a _big_ smile on her face."

Suzie presses the lock button. A bullet goes through Sebastian's skull. He falls backward in the flat. The blood and brain matter flies across the room.

Suzie's torch shines on Sebastian's fallen body. She giggles.

"Goodness me, I almost forgot."

Suzie goes to her bag, hidden in one of the room's cabinets. It's the same bag she's had ever since she was in Torchwood. She doesn't carry the prop knife she used to convince Torchwood she murdered at least three people with or her fake SIG Sauer gun—the one she loaded with a bullet for Jack Harkness' head, then a combination of flash paper and black eye shadow for her own faked (and chemically assisted) suicide— in it anymore. She still carries what she needs to get her jobs done in it. She puts on leather gloves and pulls out a lighter and all black SIG Sauer P229. With the lighter she heats up the P229. She dips the tip of the gun in Sebastian's blood. Suzie puts the P229 in Sebastian's hand. "Safe journey," she whispers in Sebastian's ear.

Suzie goes back to her bag and pulls out two garbage bags. One is almost empty. The other has the same exact clothes she busted Sebastian with. She takes out a polishing rag in the almost empty bag. She takes off her bloodied clothes with the gloves and polishes her shoes with the rag, using her torch to make sure there's not blood splatter on the tops of her boots. She puts on the clean clothes.

Suzie walks out of the loft. With a clean pair of leather gloves, Suzie tosses the bloodied clothes in the garbage chute. She stuffs her gloves in her boots.

Then she runs down the stairs to meet with her MIT.

She picks up her radio. "Suspect down. Suspect escaped cuffs and pulled a weapon out on me and shot himself. Need backup."

Suzie, Sherlock and John are standing outside the building where Sebastian shot at Sherlock and seemingly killed himself. Sebastian's body was taken to St. Bartholomew's to ensure he is dead. Suzie's given a statement to police officers about Sebastian's "suicide." John frowns at Suzie as she smiles.

"It seems odd that you'd want to be alone with a suspect, Suzie," Sherlock says.

"I wanted the glory of bringing him to justice myself. I guess I got carried away. I didn't know how dangerous he could be."

"He didn't seem that dangerous to me when I met him. His body language gave off that he was nervous, hiding something. Nothing about him being violent or suicidal."

Suzie shrugs. "I guess he was lying about being violent or suicidal, Sherlock."

"So you're closing the case?"

"I'm closing the case."

"No autopsy?"

"There'll be one tomorrow, but I don't think it'll prove anything. I mean, you can go, but I'm sure Moran's death will be ruled a suicide." Suzie clears her throat. "Hey, do you want to go with me to the Bagatelle Club tomorrow night?"

"Why?"

"I want to apologize for being such a bitch to you."

"What about John?"

"Yeah, what about John?" John repeats.

"John can come too, if he likes."

"I'll go. I'm in need of mental stimulation until I get bored again."

John groans. "Fuck, Sherlock."

Suzie walks towards her MIT. "See you at 10, then?"

"Ten it is."

"Meet me in the Hamilton Street traffic island. We'll walk over there."

Molly rolls out Moran's body from its chamber in the morgue. Sherlock and John are there when the coroner unzips Moran's body bag, revealing his face.

"The cause of death remains the same," Molly says. ".22 calibre bullet passed through the subject's brain at close range. However, there's something strange about how Moran died. Not only did we obtain bullet fragments from the subject, there were tiny particles of metal and paint from an Apple product. You know, like an iPhone, an iPad—I doubt it's an Apple computer or something like that. Do either of you know if the suspect had an iPhone?"

"No. If Moran had one, he never showed it to me when I met him before his death."

Sherlock's mind flashes back to Ronald Adair's study and the iPad near his desk.

"But Ronald Adair had an iPad. Do you know if there were any paint or metal fragments found on Ronald Adair's body?"

"DCI Cutler never gave you autopsy reports for Ronald Adair?"

"I knew Suzie was setting us up"—

"No. She hired us, more or less, to find Sebastian Moran. And she let us go now that he's dead. If you'd be so kind, I'd like to see the iPad he was found with after his death, if it's with police evidence, and his autopsy reports."

Sherlock studies Ronald Adair's iPad with a magnifying glass. Sure enough, the iPad has paint and metal scratches on it, around where the headphone jack is. He turns the iPad around in the magnifying glass until he sees a noticeable gap on the bottom of the iPad.

"Sherlock, I don't think you're supposed to tamper with evidence like that."

Sherlock cracks the iPad open. Inside the iPad are the workings of a gun.

"They didn't look at the iPad further. Their loss."

The iPad's lock button is connected to a smelted trigger mechanism. The home button is connected to a slide lock. The left side has a barrel. The barrel and the chamber are just above the modified home button. There are three live rounds in the chamber. One of the bullets in the chamber has been used.

"This is the most brilliant thing I've ever seen. John, look at this."

John looks at the iPad gun. "What the hell is this?"

"You obviously don't go to snopes.com enough. Over a decade ago, word spread through the internet that people were making cell phone guns. They looked like regular cell phones, but they had a cocking mechanism on their bottom. You could fit four bullets inside this phone and they would fire whenever you pressed five, six, seven or eight in the phone. And they were real phones. Our suspect—obviously not Moran—made a very elaborate version of this phone. And it's this iPad that killed Ronald Adair, not Sebastian Moran's sniper shot."

"Oh, God, I'm lost already. Go ahead, Sherlock. Explain."

"Adair already owned an iPad. And, like most people who own iPads, he took it places to show off his incredible magazine reading and Angry Birds playing skills. Someone swiped out his iPad before he arrived home. That's how he was able to lock himself in his room without knowing the iPad was swapped out. He settled down, did some things, and then returned to his iPad. First he pressed the home key, and then, when he discovered the home phone wasn't turned on, he pressed the lock button, which fired the first shot that went into his brain. And then someone ordered Moran to shoot close to where the actual bullet entered Adair's brain, making it look like the lone work of a sniper."

"The question is, Sherlock, who do we know that has any iPads or iPhones?"

Sherlock scans Suzie's desk in his mind and sees the iPhone 4S.

"Suzie."

Sherlock's mind flashes back to when Suzie was holding the dagger.

"The dagger's hers. She tried to pin it on Moran. But Moran's a sniper. He wouldn't be carrying a dagger with a satin finish. It would give him away if he was using it in darkness. He'd use a dagger with a black epoxy coating—it wouldn't shine in the light."

"Why would she have a dagger?"

Sherlock goes back the person walking into St. Bart's in his memories. He sees the figure more clearly—boots, high, thick heel. There are buckles on the side of the boot, gold. Her dagger's strapped to the right side of her right boot.

The figure is wearing a skirt and black trench coat. She has her hair pinned up, but it's obvious the figure has long hair.

"The person who was walking up St. Bart's? It's Suzie—she was Moriarty's lieutenant. Moran may or may not have been one, but he took the fall for Suzie."

John sighs. "I'm honestly not surprised. I'm disappointed she's a homicidal maniac, though. She has a great arse."

Back at the restaurant John and Sherlock first went to while they were looking for casinos, John is eating a sandwich while Sherlock looks at him.

"Suzie did it, but we can't prove it," Sherlock says.

"You're really not thinking of meeting her at the Bagatelle Club, are you, Sherlock?"

"I have no choice."

"Look, Sherlock…" John swallows a bite of his sandwich. "we can prove Suzie did it without you going to her."

"How?"

"I can call Lestrade and we can investigate Suzie."

"That would take too long, John."

"She can modify a gun and she has a fucking army dagger, Sherlock. Who knows what else she could do to you?"

"I'll take my chances."

"No."

"I'm sorry, John."

"God damn it, I lost you once, Sherlock, and I don't want to lose you again!"

"I'm sorry, John. I've got to go. You don't have to, but I do." Sherlock stands up. "I'm leaving for Baker Street to get ready. You don't have to follow me."

Sherlock walks out of the café.

"Sherlock, why are you such an idiot?" John sits back in his chair in the café and sighs.

  
When Sherlock arrives on Hamilton Street, Suzie is already standing in the traffic circle. Sherlock waits until the traffic's cleared up on the side of the road he's on. He walks to the island.  
  
Suzie's wearing the boots she wore in her DCI's office, but this time she has her dagger affixed to the right side of her boot. The fabric on her black skirt is velvet, as opposed to the cotton skirts she wore with her MIT. Her shirt is indigo. It has Vivienne Westwood's logo—a globus cruciger in a single planetary ring—on the front. Her black trench coat is open. Her silver watch, circle pendant and earrings shined in the night lights.  
  
"Vivienne Westwood," Sherlock says as he steps into the traffic circle.  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
"Your boss. He loved Westwood. Also, there's a label on the bottom of your shirt that says 'Vivienne Westwood.'"  
  
"Yeah. Jim really loved Westwood. He gave me some pieces after I killed a lot of people for him. It was part of a gift celebrating a homecoming of sorts. Let's just say because of Jim I get treated like a VIP at the Westwood on Conduit Street. Jim was so kind to me...before his death."  
  
"I wish I could feel bad about Moriarty's death, but I can't."  
  
"You killed him."  
  
"No, no. He killed himself."  
  
"He killed himself over _you._ " She clears her throat. "Well, we can't stand on this traffic island forever, can we? I assume John's not coming?"  
  
"He doesn't like you that much and he wishes you weren't a sociopath because he's sexually attracted to you."  
  
"Not like I'd want to fuck him anyway. Too short. To the Bagatelle?"  
  
Suzie takes Sherlock's reluctant hand. The two wait for traffic to pass before crossing the street to the Bagatelle.  
  
Inside the entrance to the Bagatelle the bouncer at the entrance stares at Sherlock. "Mum, this is the guy who snuck into your room the other day."  
  
"He's with me. It's okay."  
  
"The Susan Harper room is _your_ room."  
  
"Of course it is. I'm the owner of this club. Pays the bills, the Westwood and the toddler."  
  
The bouncer pats Sherlock down to ensure he doesn't have any weapons on him. Suzie walks Sherlock through the main floor of the club. In one of the far off corners is a door. Suzie opens it. Inside the door is an elevator, complete with a vintage grille. Suzie pulls back the grille. Sherlock and Suzie step inside the elevator. Suzie shuts the door, locks the grille, and heads to the top floor of the casino.  
  
The elevator takes Suzie and Sherlock to the floor the Susan Harper room is on. Suzie and Sherlock exit the elevator and walk into the Susan Harper room. It's empty.  
  
Suzie leads Sherlock to the Harper Room's couches. A bottle of champagne on ice is near the couches and there is a single flute on the table in front of them. Suzie pops the champagne and pours it in the flute.  
  
"So nice to have someone to talk to again. Pity you don't tend to eat around others, Sherlock. Not like I was going to drug you with water, anyway. You deserve a special death." She licks her lips and takes a sip of champagne.  
  
"By mobile gun. Moriarty's preferred weapon. You made them for him."  
  
"That's not the only thing I made for him."  
  
"You killed for Moriarty before. You're a sniper yourself. That's why you helped direct Moran's shots."  
  
"You're right about the sniping part, but I _made_ something for him. Or, rather, _we_ made something together." She points to her stomach.  
  
"Emily is Moriarty's daughter."  
  
"Yeah. I had to clear up some things in Cardiff back in 2009. Kill some witnesses, wreck havoc all over the city, the whole lot." She giggles. "That Jack Harkness. What a twat. That's when I got all those first pieces of Westwood, by the way. Jim picked me up and we had a few private reunions—to the Cardiff Airport, in his plane, going back to Conduit Street, in our home. Then Emily came along. I'll be honest—I was terrified when I discovered I was pregnant with her. But then I remembered what Jack Harkness did with his bloody grandchild. I figured I could be a better mum than Jack Harkness could be a grandfather."  
  
"You worked for Torchwood?"  
  
"Yeah, that Torchwood Three, in Cardiff. It was an accident. I was trying to kill my father and manage some bad employees of Moriarty's in Cardiff. Called themselves 'Pilgrim.' Then all of a sudden Jack bloody Harkness busts into my workplace with some other idiot named Ben, and now I'm working with people who think they own alien shit. Like different planets, different galaxies, the Doctor."  
  
"I thought _Doctor Who_ was a show."  
  
"Yeah, it is. And _Torchwood's_ a show too, but whatever they're showing on CBBC is nothing like what I saw at Torchwood. Thank God that show's cancelled—that American season with Billie Piper was _dreadful._ But the Doctor's real. I bet he doesn't look like Matt Smith right now, though. He'd probably look like a young Paul McGann, back when he was in _Withnail and I._ But that's my opinion."  
  
Sherlock sits up. "You really are an interesting person, Suzie. Tell me more before you start to bore me."  
  
  
Back in 221B, John's trying to call Lestrade. The landline's not working. John is calling Lestrade on his mobile, but it always cuts off and tells him that the service is disconnected. (Which is weird, because Sherlock will get on John if he doesn't pay the bills. Not like Sherlock's been around to tell him such things, but he would've if he was at 221B after the Fall.) He sends texts to Lestrade:  
  
Sherlock's alive. I'm not  
going crazy. Please call me  
if you get this. JW.  
  
May have found Moriarty  
lieutenant at Bagatelle Club.  
Help me! JW.  
  
I've got a lovely bunch of  
coconuts. dee de le dee dee.  
There they are a standing in  
the road. Big ones, fat ones,  
some as big as your heads.  
THIS BLOODY MOBILE REJECTS  
ALL MY TEXTS. JW.  
  
"Suzie," he says. He turns on his laptop. When it's completely on, he discovers the internet is down.  
  
John groans. He packs up his laptop and mobile and leaves 221B.  
  
  
Suzie tells Sherlock briefly about how she met Moriarty in London. She also tells Sherlock about her Torchwood Three years: how she pretended to be a loyal employee and rose to the ranks of second-in-command there, how she planned the massacre of Pilgrim and the death of her father, how she staged her deaths to flee and travel Europe and Africa, a more detailed account of her Cardiff rampage in 2009.  
  
"You see, Sherlock, you're not the only person who knows how to fake their death. That's why I brought you back."  
  
" _You_ brought me back."  
  
"Who else could call Mycroft and tell him everyone in Moriarty's web was arrested?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"You want to meet someone?"  
  
Suzie walks to a cabinet in her gaming suite and pulls out a jar. Inside the jar is a tongue in water. The water's tinted a light yellow after years of aging. She puts the jar beside the champagne bucket.  
  
"This is DI Tom Cutler."  
  
"Your ex-husband?"  
  
"No, just someone I slept with in 2009. He knew my real name, my past crimes and all, and he had to go. I cut his tongue out, popped his eyes so the vitreous gel would ooze out of them, stabbed him for good measure, and blew him up in the Hub with an eyeless replica of me. And the Cardiff police bought it! Twats." She laughs.  
  
"So your real name is Susan Harper?"  
  
"Oh, no. It's another pseudonym. Suzie Cutler, Susan Harper, Sue Costa—I take the last names of people I've fucked and twist my first name around. Most people can't tell a difference. It helps if you can hack into computers, perform a bit of identity theft."  
  
"So what's"—  
  
"My real name? I was thinking you'd say that."  
  
Suzie pulls out a passport from her coat. It's an old passport; instead of a red cover, there's a blue cover on it. It has the United Kingdom's coat of arms on it. The pages in the passport have yellowed. Suzie turns to the part of the passport with her laminated photograph on it. Specifically the passport was created in 1985. The passport reveals Suzie's name as Suzanne Nisha Costello, born 14 May 1977 in Bath.  
  
"It's Suzanne Nisha Costello. But please do continue to call me Suzie. Most everyone does."  
  
Sherlock nods his head. "Looks legitimate. Never been tampered with."  
  
"I was eight. I didn't know how to forge a passport at the time. I keep it whenever I need to explain myself to some people. Just a select few. Otherwise I would've burnt it on top of my father's grave, the bastard." She closes the passport and claps her hands. "So, Sherlock, would you like to play Texas Hold 'Em?"  
  
"No. Gambling's not my thing. I find it boring."  
  
Suzie's bag is beside the table. She pulls out two iPhones, identical in phone colour and protective case colour, and places them on the table.  
  
"Oh," Sherlock says. "I forgot."  
  
"To the card table."  
  
  
John's at the nearest open internet café. He'd prefer a Starbucks for at least his own table and a cup of the Starbucks house blend, but Starbucks everywhere close before 10 PM. Suzie knew what she was doing when she told Sherlock to meet her specifically at 10. She's more dangerous and tech-savvy than John and Sherlock realized.  
  
There's still a block on John's mobile, so he does the next best thing he can do: call Lestrade on his computer. John has a headset. Sherlock found it after a case involving some professional gamer (and a corpse—there's usually a corpse) and, for reasons unknown, he kept the headset. John plugs it in the computer. Lestrade picks up.  
  
"Hello, Lestrade?"  
  
_"Watson?"_  
  
"I need your help. A friend of mine's in trouble."  
  
_"What friend?"_  
  
"Oh…a very special friend. His name's not important."  
  
_"Why should I care about your friend? Is he about to get kicked out the club? Why should I care, John?"_  
  
"If we don't get to him, he'll be killed."  
  
_"Oh. Where is he?"_  
  
"The Bagatelle Club. But, um…don't meet me at 221B. Meet me at the Double Shift Internet Café. Long story. And then I'll take you to the club."  
  
  
Suzie shuffles the cards in front of Sherlock at the card table. To either side of her is an iPhone. Also close by, on her right, is her dagger, taken off her boot and placed on the game table.  
  
"Can I ask you a question before we play?" Sherlock says.  
  
"Sure." She smiles.  
  
"Who gave you the knife?"  
  
"Jim. He felt bad for me after I lost my hunting knife looking for an old associate in Italy. Jim felt bad for me, so he gave me a knife made for hunting humans before I went on that Cardiff rampage."  
  
"He even let you try it out on unsuspecting people in Cardiff. What a thoughtful man."  
  
"Jim could fix _everything._ "  
  
Suzie passes two cards to Sherlock. She burns a card from the top of the deck and puts the next card in the middle of the table. She does this until there are three burnt cards and three cards in play for Sherlock's game.  
  
"No need for blind bets, Sherlock. Your bet is a 50/50 chance of survival."  
  
"You want to see me suffer."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I don't suffer that well, Suzie."  
  
"I can try. My bet is Tom Cutler's tongue. If you win, you can have it. I heard you were into things like that."  
  
"Yes, that's a perfect gift, Suzie. It's not booby trapped or anything, correct?"  
  
"Goodness, no. How can I put an explosive or squib in a tongue and expect it to explode?" Suzie puts the deck down. "May as well show me your cards, since it's the Hand of Fate here."  
  
Sherlock reveals the cards. He has an ace of spades and a seven of hearts. Combined, not very good cards to start off with in Texas Hold 'Em. And, if it was a normal game, Sherlock would fold, say he's bored, and go back to 221B to look at his skull. He sighs.  
  
Suzie grins. "Sorry, Sherlock. Can't win with a high card."  
  
Suzie reveals the next card, the flop. It's a nine of diamonds.  
  
_Lucky me, forced to look at a dreadful hand,_ Sherlock thinks.  
  
"You wanna know a secret, Sherlock? Why I killed Sebastian Moran? He broke into Jim's and my suite at the Westbury. I was 20 weeks and he tried to rob us. He could've shot at my little girl and killed her. And, of course, he could've killed me. But I coaxed him into Jim's organization. I thought he'd be helpful taking out some of Jim's badly behaved employees. And I wanted Jim to make him a lieutenant, so I could keep my eye on him. That way, if Moran fucked up, I'd be the one to kill him. I knew I'd had to ask Jim's permission first, but I know Jim wouldn't have minded. And it helped that we were about the same height and had black curly hair. I could sneak into buildings and people could think I was Moran instead of, well, me."  
  
Suzie reveals the fourth card, the turn. It's an eight of spades.  
  
"Ronald Adler was an innocent man who liked to spend money. He just happened to step into the wrong casino. He did everything by the book—bought a membership up front, paid for the Harper room and all that. He was a good man. He had the misfortune of watching Moran and I cheat at a game. You saw how I discarded the cards before I put the community cards in the middle? I didn't do that for the games that Ronald was at. He was going to tell the manager I was cheating. I laughed in his face and told him I was the _owner_ and if I wanted to cheat the others at the table, they could. The other guys there, they knew not to speak up. Adler, on the other hand, he was going to call the police."  
  
"That's when you decided to put a hit on him. You told Moran to shoot him although you executed Adler first."  
  
"Exactly."  
  
Suzie reveals the last card, the river. It's a queen of spades.  
  
"Oh, too bad, Sherlock."  
  
Suzie clears all the cards from the table. She moves the iPhones to the centre of the card table and presses the home buttons on both of them.  
  
"You have exactly 10 seconds to choose the actual working iPhone. If you don't pick a phone, I'll stab you in your heart."  
  
Suzie grabs the knife. She turns her stainless steel watch on her right wrist. "Go."  
  
Sherlock quickly scans the phones. He picks the phone on his left. Suzie puts down the knife and picks up the phone on her right. She positions it in front of Sherlock.  
  
"Goodbye, Sherlock."  
  
John runs into the room. He grabs Suzie's arm and forces her to throw the phone on the ground. Her hands free, John grabs them and holds them behind her back. Lestrade follows John in. He freezes when he sees Sherlock.  
  
"Sherlock, you're alive?"  
  
"I think now isn't the best time to celebrate my return from the grave," Sherlock tells him. "Especially when we have a sociopath dragging John around the room trying to get free."  
  
"No shit, Sherlock!" Suzie laughs. "But then, why should I struggle? You don't have anything on me. You can't send me to jail."  
  
"Actually, I can." Sherlock pulls out his cell phone. "You've always conveyed a sense of loneliness, and, at the same time, a tendency for braggadocio."  
  
Sherlock presses a few buttons on the mobile phone. Suzie's voice can be heard talking to Sherlock: _So_ _nice to have someone to talk to again._  
  
"Lestrade, if you'd let this mobile play, I have proof that Suzanne Costello is responsible for several deaths, including the deaths of Ronald Adair and Sebastian Moran. She could be in jail for the rest of her life. I suggest you call Scotland Yard ASAP."  
  
Sherlock walks to the phone John made Suzie drop. He picks it up and clicks the lock button. The phone turns on; nothing fires from it.  
  
"Knew you'd pick the right phone," Suzie says. "Then I would've stabbed you in the heart. Bloody mobile recorder."

Minutes later, the police block off Hamilton Street. It's the only way they're able to swarm the Bagatelle.

PC White, followed by another constable, run up the stairs. They handcuff Suzie and confiscate her knife and mobile gun.

"Can I have one thing to take with me before I go to prison?" Suzie asks the officers. "Nothing dangerous or anything. Just some press clippings about the death of Richard Brook. He's my favourite children's entertainer. It's a shame he killed himself."

Suzie takes the press clippings and puts them in her trench coat pocket. She lets the police walk her to a car.

Before Suzie is placed inside the car, PC White pulls out Suzie's passport. She discreetly puts Suzie's passport in her pocket.

Soon after the passport's put away, PC White is handed Sherlock's mobile. While none of the other officers are watching, PC White deletes Suzie's confession and breaks the battery inside the mobile. She puts the phone back in the evidence bag and grins.

The honest officers don't suspect a thing.

The police talked to Sherlock while Suzie was being arrested. Sherlock revealed her real name and told them the passport she had on hand. Police are running a check on "Suzanne Nisha Costello" in their computers. The search results return nothing.

Suzie is in her jail cell, looking at the wall. A constable walks to her cell.

"Are you Suzanne Costello?

"Actually, no. I'm Zoe Gillian Luther." Suzie tries to sound as sensible and sane as possible. "This has happened to me before—me getting arrested 'cause I look like that Suzie Costello woman. We look like twins, but I swear I'm not her. You can look me up—I work at Ford & Vargas in humanitarian law. There was some sort of sweep at a casino I was walking by the other night, and I got picked up while Suzie got away. Disappeared into the night."

"I'll check for you, mum."

The police do a check on Zoe Luther. Sure enough, documents of her appear on the internet. There's a profile of her on a professional networking site.

  


There's a biography on the Ford & Vargas site showcasing Zoe's legal expertise.

  


What Suzie's neglected to tell the police is that Zoe Luther was killed in 2010, and Suzie's scrubbed any proof of her death from the Internet. At least for now.

The next day, Sherlock types out an index file on his computer on Suzie. It's a large database of criminals that have ever crossed Sherlock's path, from Irene Adler to some guy that had the audacity of touching Sherlock's scarf.

Sherlock turns off his laptop. "I fully expect things to get boring again now that Suzie's in jail. There won't be a criminal to look for in days. No murders."

"Oh, don't give up hope, Sherlock. Something's bound to happen sooner or later."

There's a knock at the door. John walks to get it.

"I hope it's not Mrs. Hudson. I don't think she knows about what Suzie did to my phone and the building's internet the other night."

John opens the door. His mouth is hanging open.

Standing at the door are three women. The first is Suzie Costello. She's holding her two year old daughter Emily in her arms. Her Torchwood bag is by her side. The third woman is PC White. She's wearing red lipstick and she's pouting.

"Oh, pick your mouth up off the floor, John. Hello, Sherlock."

Sherlock looks at the door. "Come in, Suzie. Entourage."

Suzie, her daughter and the redhead stand in the middle of Sherlock's living room. She lifts up Emily. "This is Emily, my daughter."

"Hello, Mr. Sherlock," Emily says.

"Isn't she adorable? And maybe not insane unlike Mum." Suzie waves toward the redhead. "This is my second-in-command."

"PC Regina White."

"Oh, Sherlock, you of all people should know that Regina White is not her real name. She's not even a constable, for fuck's sake. I'll let you guess her name. Don't say anything, Miss White. Here's a clue: 'A boat beneath a summer sky.'"

Sherlock thinks for a moment before stating: "'A boat beneath a summer sky.' Last poem from the book _Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There._ The Regina White pseudonym refers to the White Queen. The White Queen turned into a tureen of soup when she was in check from the Red King, stupid git. Alice captured the Red Queen and won the game after the White Queen disappeared. Your real name is Alice."

Alice grins. "You're right." She extends a hand to Sherlock. "Alice Morgan. A pleasure to finally meet you out of costume."

Suzie hands Emily to Alice. Emily starts playing with Alice's hair.

Suzie walks to Sherlock. She waves off John. "It's okay, John. I'm not going to kill him. I just want to talk."

"Sneaking your second-in-command in to conceal and destroy police evidence. Clever."

"Alice is my wildcard, literally. It's always nice to keep her hidden until I need her to throw off detectives sometimes. She's a serial killer, like me. Killed her parents and the family dog and got away with it. And then she killed DCI Ian Reed. Ian's death was more like a decision she made with her friends, but she killed her parents and the dog all by herself. Warms my heart. But there's more. We own the Bagatelle Club together. Alice is in sole ownership of the casino right now."

"And she'll hand the club back to you when the coast is clear."

"Exactly. I came by with Alice and the little cub to give you a couple of things."

Suzie opens her bag. She pulls out DI Tom Cutler's tongue.

"You didn't actually win it in Texas Hold 'Em, but it's yours. You can put it beside that skull of yours."

"I'm flattered."

"Oh, there's this."

Suzie pulls out a white envelope and hands it to Sherlock. He opens it. Inside is an invitation decorated with a dessert fork, a dinner fork, a plate, a dinner knife and a spoon in silhouette. The back, in black ink, reads:

You're invited to

Lunch with the Costello-Morgans!

Hosts: Suzie Costello and Alice Morgan

When: Wednesday, April 10 from 12 PM to 2 PM

Where: The Westbury Mayfair, Room 799

Bond Street, Mayfair, London W1S 2YF

***

Admit Sherlock Holmes and John Watson one time only with this invitation. Without invitation, guests may be killed off site.

:)

Suzie, Alice and Emily

"Alice and I want to see you there. I hate to be left alone. You should know." She smiles and closes up her bag. "Come on, Alice. We've got to get home and get ready for the party tomorrow."

Alice hands Emily over to Suzie. "Goodbye, Sherlock," Emily says.

Alice grins and shuts the door.

John sighs. "Is Suzie trying to kill us again?"

"No, John. She's going to brag about how powerful and influential she is in the crime world again. And didn't you hear her? She hates to be lonely. Let's put our dislike of her aside and show up at the party. That means _no guns,_ John."

John grumbles.

"Wear a nice suit. As Suzie told me, the prized employees—Jim and herself—wore Westwood. Everyone else wears Primark. Not literally, of course, but you get the gist."

Mayfair's always been an affluent area of London, but ever since high-end retailers flocked to the area, it's more affluent than ever. Sherlock and John are treated to the sights and the lights of Mayfair as they walk from the Oxford Circus Underground station to New Bond and Conduit. The stores don't faze Sherlock—he's used to seeing labels like Ted Baker and Lacoste—but they're making John irritable. He bites his lip as they walk down Regent Street. John feels a little bit better as they're passing the airline offices instead of more high-end designer shops, but not that much. It gets worse when Sherlock and he pass the Vivienne Westwood shops on Conduit Street. He audibly groans as he passes the pink neon sign in front of the women's store.

Moments later, Sherlock and John arrive at the Westbury Mayfair.

"Room 799," Sherlock says to the hotel receptionist. "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson"—Sherlock points to John—"to see Suzie Costello, Alice Morgan and daughter."

Sherlock hands the receptionist the card. The receptionist nods. "Holmes and Watson. I'll call and tell Suzie you're coming. Suzie wanted me to tell you that once you leave, you can't step back in for anything or else you'll be killed."

"Charming woman. Noted."

The receptionist dials a hotel number. "Reception desk. Holmes and Watson need escort to Suzanne Costello penthouse."

A porter takes Sherlock and John to an elevator. They're whisked off to the seventh floor and taken to Suzie's suite. The porter opens the door and lets them in.

Sherlock and John walk towards the terrace, overlooking Mayfair and showcasing several points in the London skyline. There, Suzie, Alice, and Emily, in a booster chair, are sitting at a table. Sherlock and John sit at the table. It's a small party on the terrace—it's only Sherlock, John, Suzie, Alice, Emily, and, as soon as John sits at the table, a sommelier. He pours all the guests champagne, except for Emily, who receives a glass of apple juice. When the sommelier offers Sherlock a glass, he refuses.

When the sommelier is finished, Suzie starts talking.

"Wonderful weather tonight. A bit chilly, but when isn't it chilly in London? It's not raining—that's the most important thing. Welcome to my party. It's small, but I quite like an intimate party at my residence. I see my honoured guests, Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, and his partner, Doctor John Watson, are here."

"It's a pleasure to be here, Suzie."

"Sherlock, you idiot..."

"No, no, it's okay."

"The appetizer will be wild mushroom soup, the main chicken tikka masala and the dessert spotted dick. Is that all right?"

John sighs. "I guess it is, Suzie."

"My chefs work in the hotel's kitchen. They won't poison you. Otherwise they'd kill a lot of people. I'd like my family and me to live this evening, thank you very much. The first course will be out shortly.

"As we all know, I set up this extravagant plan to bring Sherlock Holmes out of hiding and clean out Jim's house. My goal was to be just like Jim—become a consulting criminal, let the grunts do the dirty work, actively work towards killing Sherlock."

John facepalms at the table.

"How did you know I was alive, Suzie?"

Suzie smiles. "You remember Sir John Hardy?"

"He was one of the men that gambled in your room."

"With Hardy already a member of the government, it was pretty easy to sneak him in the Diogenes Club. Even the rule of silence couldn't stop him from discovering your whereabouts and planting lies about my demise. You know, little things like 'Sue Costa, associate of Jim Moriarty, fled London for Spain during the Olympics,' when in reality I _did_ flee...to Mexico. By the time the government was looking for me, I went back to London under my real name with no attachment to Jim's whatsoever."

"That's how you were able to live in London without the government looking for you, even with your daughter."

"Yeah. Can't have the government busting me for procreating. That would be a foolish mistake.

"It took me a while to execute the plan because in Mexico, I met Alice. She had an alias I wanted."

Alice nods. "Suzie drugged me and tied me up to a bed and threatened to kill me, just like a man she killed in Cardiff. It was very kinky."

"But Alice talked me out of it. We went back to London. Originally, she was the babysitter."

"Then I became her lover, and in time, I became her second-in-command."

"Alice is my mummy now."

Suzie pats Emily's head. "That's right. Alice is your mummy."

"You're my mummy."

"And I'm your mummy. You have two mummies! You clever girl, you."

Two waiters come out to the balcony. One of them gives Emily carrot sticks. The other serves the rest of the dinner party soup bowls from the left of each guest. The waiter who gave Emily carrot sticks serves the soup from a tureen, also from the left of each guest. Except for Sherlock, the others start eating the soup.

"We would've called for you earlier, Sherlock, but Alice and I had to decide who had to go. In the end, we agreed we didn't need Sebastian and Connor Parkes to rebuild.

"But I was thinking, while I was spending the night in prison...After Jim died—and this was before I met Alice—I grabbed one of Emily's balls and my knife and placed them in front of her. I told her about her father dying and how he lost his life. I gave her two options. If Emily picked the ball, I'd retire from killing and be a good mum. We'd move out of the hotel and into a house in Belgravia and live a normal upper class life. But if Emily picked the knife, I'd avenge Jim's death and kill Sherlock."

"The ultimatum from _Shogun Assassin._ "

"It's actually the ultimatum from the _Lone Wolf and Cub_ series, but I got it specifically from _Lone Wolf and Cub: Sword of Vengeance._ _Shogun Assassin_ is the English-language version of that film."

"I must see it someday."

John sighs.

"Mummy wasn't happy."

"Emily saw how sad I was when I was talking about giving up killing for Belgravia. She chose the knife. And so I set out to avenge Jim's death—and my plan almost worked. At least I did have a few fail-safes in case the plan didn't work. I never enact a plan without one.

"But back when I was in jail the other day, I realized something. Jim's dislike of you, his obsession with taking you down—that was his downfall, not you. I don't want to be like that—continuously obsessing over you until I kill myself. Emily and I are happier now, especially after Alice came into our lives. Now I've got a daughter who needs me, a girlfriend who's my rock and a casino to run. Besides, I couldn't ever be a consulting criminal like Jim, anyway. I like getting in the field every once in a while and getting dirty. Jim hated that."

"Boring."

"Aww, Sherlock, _now_ you find me boring?"

"Yes."

"You didn't let me finish. I'm going to be a criminal for hire, and Alice is joining me."

"Much better, Suzie."

"Thank you, Sherlock. I can't disappoint my daughter. She loves the hunt. She kicked whenever I'd tell her about my errands for Jim in the womb. She was born on one of the hottest days of 2010, and it was unusually hot to boot. And, of course, there was the decision with the ball and knife. I have to keep doing what I'm doing. It makes me happy and it makes my daughter proud of me."

"Mummy's my hero."

"See? I've got to be a good role model for her."

John stops eating his soup for a moment.

"I think it's a wonderful decision, don't you think, John?" Alice asks.

John takes his spoon out of the soup bowl and puts it on the plate under the bowl. "I should be used to people like you lot by now, but you all manage to surprise me every once in a while."

"I'm letting my web go and offering my services to whoever needs them," Suzie continues. "I can fix problems just like Jim _and_ have fun with it at the same time. And John, don't get so down. They'll be more bodies all over the city! More chances for you to blog about your new adventures with Sherlock! I want you to unlock that blog as soon as you can, John. I don't know how many people will return to your Sherlock blog, but I know I'll be reading it every time you update."

"I will, Suzie," John says through his teeth. He tries to contain his smile, however. He's secretly elated that he now has a reason to blog about Sherlock's exploits again. Even if Suzie Costello, of all people, is telling him to do it. He returns to his soup.

"And I won't kill Sherlock. Unless you come back to the Westbury Mayfair after tonight. Security protocol—can't really let a lot of people come up here and find out about me so I go to Holloway."

Sherlock nods. "I'd do the same thing if I was a criminal sociopath just like you, Suzie."

"I might end up in Bethlem again," Alice says. "I escaped from there once, with the help of a friend. Suzie helped get rid of my existence there so I wouldn't be recaptured living here. I don't do well in mental hospitals. I started cutting myself there."

Alice rolls up her left sleeve. On her arm are self-inflicted cut marks.

"I've done a few cuts recently, but Suzie's helping me to stop. I'm quitting for Emily and her."

Suzie squeezes Alice's right hand. "It's okay, Alice. You're here with me, and together we can feed the darkness, give it what it wants."

"Yes, Suzie. Let's feed some black holes."

Suzie raises her glass. "To a new life, for all of us."

The others except Sherlock and John raise and clink their glasses.

"All right, you lot. Let's enjoy this dinner before I kick you two out and take Emily to bed. It's already past her bedtime. I wanted her to meet you two tonight. Say hello to Sherlock and John, Emily."

"Hello, Sherlock. Hello, Doctor John."

"Good girl." Suzie gives Emily a peck on her lips.

Sherlock grins. "Now _this_ is my idea of a homecoming party."


End file.
